


Hugs

by SarahTaylor90



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Awesome Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Coping, Disability, Disabled Character, Insecurity, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 18:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahTaylor90/pseuds/SarahTaylor90
Summary: Strange, Steve mused sometimes, how, among all the other dirty, sweat-inducing and pleasurable activities they did together, the simple, tame (although always firm, enjoyable and very, very warm) act of hugging one another is where the missing arm started bugging him.





	Hugs

Steve hadn’t thought it would be like this. 

When Bucky first said, ’Come here, punk’, after everything, and wrapped his one good arm around Steve’s neck, warm and strong, and – well, basically just did something akin to rubbing his stump to Steve’s side, which would have been a hug if his left elbow, forearm and hand were still there – Steve was just grateful. Really, unbelievably grateful.

Grateful that Bucky was there, alive at all, in the first place. Thankful that he was with Steve, choosing to let him in and be a part of the recovery process. Grateful that Bucky chose to hug him, to touch him after all he had been through - and later, chose to do other things with, and to, Steve that involved touching and made Steve blush all shades of red if he thought about it. 

Thankful that Bucky wanted and loved him back, just like Steve wanted and loved him. 

He didn’t think about the missing arm at all. 

He knew Bucky did, though. 

Of course, it was only natural that Bucky never forgot about it. He was missing a limb, after all. It was not only the problem of not being able to do things like he used to before the accident, as he explained it; it was that strange phantom feeling that healthy, intact people could never truly understand. It made him feel like his hand was there, just like it used to be, and at the same time made him constantly aware of its absence. 

It took Bucky a long time to adjust to being an amputee. Steve remembered all the stages. The anger, the lashing out at everyone and everything while still at the hospital. The depression, that terrifying emptiness that Bucky started showing signs of when he was released from medical care, and for the first time really had to face the fact that some things even the best of doctors aren’t able to fix. And then, finally, the light at the end of the tunnel: Bucky deciding that despite all odds he is going to build himself a life again, and he is damn well going to enjoy it to the best of his abilities. 

It didn’t hurt, of course, that this involved confessing his feelings for Steve along with the physical therapy and setting a daily routine. 

Bucky, in the end, learned how to have a happy and meaningful life with a missing arm. He was always aware of it, yes, but eventually stopped getting self-conscious over it and just got on with his everyday tasks. 

Which, after a while, involved hugging Steve. A lot. 

Strange, Steve mused sometimes, how, among all the other dirty, sweat-inducing and pleasurable activities they did together, the simple, tame (although always firm, enjoyable and very, very warm) act of hugging one another is where the missing arm started bugging him. 

Maybe bugging isn’t the right word. He wasn’t bothered by it, not the sight of the stump, nor the feel of it. The feeling of Bucky’s maimed and scarred stump was something that he got used to at the same time he got used to Bucky’s other hand, dry and calloused, touching his shoulder, drawing illegible patterns on his lower back, inching under the waistband of his trousers. He started discovering the scars on Bucky’s shoulder, back and chest with his fingers, his lips and his tongue at the same time he started discovering what it was like to hold his hand in public, to kiss him hello and goodbye (on the lips); what it was like to strip naked together.

Yeah, the stump was just a part of the new and wonderful little things that came with the experience of finally getting together with Bucky. Like how after years of calling Bucky his friend, his buddy, the brother he never had – now Steve was allowed to call him his boyfriend. Lover. 

And the sight? Sure, Steve was used to seeing Bucky with two arms all his life. But he was also used to seeing him with cool, short shaggy hair, instead of the long locks reaching beyond his chin he now had. Seeing an empty sleeve where his left arm should have been was just another thing that changed, as things were bound to if you know someone for decades. 

And yet. And yet…

As time was passing, as Bucky was healing, Steve started noticing a deep, dark shadow lurking nearby. 

It was like he was on a completely different journey than Bucky. While his lover was getting over what happened to him, learned to live his life a bit differently and started, after first kissing Steve, being genuinely happy, Steve was slowly getting caught in a spiral. 

Steve blamed the hugs for that.

After the accident, after the initial shock, the gut-consuming fear Steve was beyond himself with relief that Bucky was alive. Then, that Bucky was conscious. Then, that he became responsive. That he was taken off the respirator. That he started eating by himself. That he started getting up from his bed and walking around a bit. That he started physical therapy. 

And Steve was relieved and so very, very grateful for how things turned out. For having avoided the worst scenarios. 

The intense unbelievable happiness came when Bucky left the hospital - and moved to Steve’s place because he still needed assistance and looking after. Bucky went through a rough period, but he showed immense trust in Steve, and started relying on him more and more. This, in turn, led to even more trust, and spending more time together, and getting to know each other on a whole new level. The peak of the warm, fuzzy feeling Steve was getting in his chest just from having Bucky alive and next to him was the evening when Bucky confessed his feelings. He started by saying how was thankful he was for Steve being there for him, for having him as friend, as a supporter, an anchor – but ended up muttering, ’No wonder I have been in love with you for so long.’

The rest, as they say, is history. 

Steve was happy, and in love, and next to the kissing, and petting, and other things, they were hugging each other a lot. 

It was something that got introduced gradually to their relationship. They were doing the ’other things’ quite regularly by the time the first real hug – the intense, tight hug of lovers and not the brotherly patting each other on the back they have been familiar with for years – happened. Bucky said their usual sentence (’Come here, punk’), but it wasn’t like all the other occasions. Neither of them were drunk, for one thing. They weren’t about to say goodbye to each other after a night out, or having an overly intimate moment for two (at the time) teenager boys. Instead, it was early morning, Steve was in the kitchen preparing breakfast while he thought Bucky was still asleep. He was a bit startled when Bucky muttered their sentence in the quiet of the flat, voice sleep-roughened and a bit breathless. Steve didn’t really know what to think, but he went willingly anyway, took the other man in his arms and sighed when Bucky seemingly melted into him, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder and staying like that for long blissful moments. 

Steve hadn’t thought about the arm at the time. 

The hugs became a frequent, though irregular occurrence. It was initiated by Bucky nearly all the time; it seemed to Steve as if he needed that sort of intimacy and closeness more than any of the other activities they did together. The reason was beyond Steve’s understanding, but he was not about to deny this simple pleasure from anybody, let alone the guy he had been in love with almost all his life. 

It was following this turn of events that he started noticing that – well, that Bucky only had one arm. 

He had only one arm. 

Bucky was an amputee. 

He had his right shoulder, his elbow, his hand, and then his left shoulder, and then that – sometimes he even dared to call it ugly – scarred stump that barley resembled a part of a human anymore. 

He had been hurt.

He was hurting still, Steve thought, just learning how to cope with it. 

Knowing that was terrible.

Even worse was how the thought became more downweighing and depressing with each hug. 

Just how did he get to this point, Steve asked himself, when Bucky was getting himself back together and on track again, he started thinking these terrible thoughts?

But he could not help it.

When Bucky hugged him, he could not resist seeking a glance or two at the stump, and at the empty space where the arm should have been. It didn’t really matter whether Bucky was clothed, or not wearing a shirt at all. Steve fancied there was a dark emptiness, a hole in the arm’s place. A black hole that was unknown and mysterious, but had an irresistible gravitational pull that was constantly dragging Steve under, to a world of pain and misery. 

When they were hugging, his side, where Bucky’s left arm would have been wrapped around him, felt as if it was freezing, as if the flesh was torn open and left without any protection in a vicious snowstorm. It was almost unbearably painful. 

It became emotionally hurtful to hug Bucky. It didn’t even take long.

Isn’t it funny, how sometimes you are made to hide the strangest things from your lover? How, by the cruel game of circumstances you are forced to pretend that something your lover needs and craves does not make you hurt with the pain of a million needle pricks? 

Bucky needed these hugs. He ached for them. He lusted for them. Even though Steve didn’t understand why exactly, because they haven’t been too touch starved when they were younger, he had his guesses. Bucky survived a devastating trauma, which alone was an explanation in itself for Steve. 

But even if Bucky needed these hugs to feel good about himself, about the world, Steve had his own demons to fight. 

And this fight, he had to fight alone. 

He didn’t want Bucky to notice his struggle, he didn’t want Bucky to notice that anything was amiss at all. 

How would it look like to him? What would he think about Steve?

What kind of explanation would make it okay for Steve to cringe, to wince and to move away at the sight, the feel of Bucky’s stump? What would explain his distress now, when the scars started to heal, to fade, when not long ago Bucky was the one to wince and cringe and turn away in disgust at the sight of his own body? How could he come to this, when a few short months ago he was happy to look at Bucky’s re-bandaging at the hospital, to watch the raw and bloody and fresh wounds get unwrapped and cleaned and then wrapped again, because it meant Bucky was alive?

How can he not want to be in his lovers arms?

How can he even care about the arm?

Steve was terrified that Bucky would notice. That he would not only figure out Steve was thinking cruel, unpleasant thoughts about his missing arm, but take note of the self-hate and blame Steve was using to punish himself for them. 

So he pretended, and acted like everything was alright. 

He smiled when Bucky moved close to him. He bit his lip when Bucky ran his fingers down his arm. He sighed when Bucky made Steve wrap his arms around him, and cuddled close in return, nuzzling under Steve’s ear.

And tried very hard not cry. 

It was difficult, more difficult on some occasions than others. The hugs themselves were always the same, of course, but there was no set scenario for what happened after them.

Sometimes – these were the times that Steve endured more easily – the hug was just a brief expression of affection on Bucky’s part. These were the occasions when Bucky was either too tired for more, or simply didn’t want to do anything else. It was just an opportunity to touch Steve without it leading somewhere. 

These were the times when Steve could make his escape right afterwards, without it looking suspicious or weird. He could hide in their bedroom or the bathroom, pretending he went to find something he was not really in need of, and take a few seconds to unwind. He would tightly shut his eyes, trying to get rid of the image if Buck’s stump around him. He would rub his face. He would swallow a few times, loudly, to get rid of the urge to sob. 

And then he would emerge again with a fake smile on his face. 

On other days, it was harder. Harder to pretend, harder to escape. Bucky would not be satisfied with shortly cuddling up to Steve in the hallway. He would want more. He would want to kiss Steve a bit, sometimes more than a bit. He would be fun and playful with a mischievous glint in his eyes. On occasion, he would even try to tickle Steve, or propose that they continue the cuddling on the couch, in front of the TV. 

Steve had a relatively long list of excuses just for getting out of, or postponing the latter. He was just about to go for a run. He wanted to make a phone call. He had to start preparing dinner. He really had to pee. 

And he would take the opportunity to calm down, to try and get rid of the knot in his stomach, the lump in his throat, the stinging in his eyes. To take a few slow breaths, inhale through his nose, exhale through his mouth, and wait until his hands stop shaking. Usually, this would take a few minutes, and then he would be able to get himself together enough to go back to Bucky and be the lover he knew his boyfriend wanted. Needed.

But on some exceptional occasions, it would take more. It would require him to get out of the house, to go for a run or a walk, and not see Bucky (the arm, it was only the arm that was the problem) for a couple of hours.

Steve could only hope that Bucky was not hurt by this.

Still, the absolute worst was when a simple hug didn’t stay above-the-waist touching. 

Steve always knew just from Bucky’s expression when this was the case, even before Bucky drew him close. He would talk to Steve in a low, gentle voice; his eyes would be dark. When he embraced Steve, he would wrap his good arm around his neck at first, and tuck his face in his shoulder – but then his fingers would start playing with Steve’s hair, and his lips would find that sensitive spot under his ear that made Steve break out in goose bumps and weak at the knees. 

And Steve would be unable to break away, to resist.

Naturally, he loved having sex with Bucky, and he was not ashamed of it. In fact, there were very few things either of them were ashamed of. They didn’t restrict their sex life to the bedroom: they fucked in the kitchen, in the shower, in the living room, and once even on the balcony. They were passionate, they were loud, and they were not holding themselves back: they would bite and scratch and push and pull at each other. 

Steve loved it, and it provided him with endless fantasy material. He got half hard just thinking about it. 

But when it started with a hug, it was different. It would not be fucking – it always ended up being lovemaking. Slow and sweet and passionate.

Emotional. 

Steve could not say no to it, but often it felt like torture. Watching Bucky strip down completely – he always took his time and made sure he got everything out of the way as opposed to the spontaneous quickies which they often ended up doing half-clothed. No, on these occasions Steve would have to watch every scar, every sign of pain and torture get uncovered once more. 

Bucky more often than not would make them retreat to the bedroom. He would lie down, and drag Steve on top of him, holding him tightly, as if he wanted to soak up his body heat.

He would not let go of Steve. 

They would be face-to-face – if not, they’d still turn to kiss every couple of seconds. Bucky would look Steve in the eye, and whisper declarations of love and sweet nothings.

Even afterwards, when he would be half-napping already, he’d cuddle close to Steve, arranging them in an imitation of a hug, and make a sleepy, but happy sigh. 

He’d drift off, and Steve would be left there, awake with his thoughts – with the touch and the sight of Bucky’s stump.

On these occasions, Steve would not be able to fight of his tears, and he could only pray that Bucky wouldn’t notice them – not then, and not in the morning, when Steve would sneak out of the bed and their embrace to somehow get rid of the redness in his eyes. 

Thankfully, Bucky never seemed to notice anything. 

At least he never said anything. He never commented on Steve’s tense and rigid back when he spontaneously hugged him. He never said a word when Steve made a more or less obvious excuse to get away, for a few minutes if nothing more. He never complained when Steve was not in the bed with him in the morning after a night of love-making.

He would only offer a gentle smile when Steve came back to him, and make another move to get close.

He offered and asked for his hugs with the same sort of shy neediness every time, again and again, as though nothing was amiss. 

Maybe that was why Steve made himself believe that he could get away with his lie (because it was a lie) for eternity. 

Looking back he thought he could not be more naïve and a bigger idiot. 

Because Bucky noticed. Of course he did. He was not oblivious. 

Here’s how it happened:

They continued like this for months. As if everything was perfect. 

Bucky followed through with the physical therapy diligently, first at the hospital, then, when the exercises weren’t so taxing anymore and he knew how to carry them out properly, at home. He started getting out more: instead of going to the hospital for doctor’s appointments, he accompanied Steve for grocery shopping, which with time included stopping by at the bookstore, at the music shop, at the art supplier (for Steve, of course). He started reading intensely, he caught up with the happenings in the world, and started thinking about how to go about his life from then on. He started talking about maybe going back to studying. 

Steve worked, ate, slept, and helped Bucky with whatever and whenever he needed. And all the while Steve pretended everything was fine, except for the moments he spent hiding away in the bathroom, fighting the urge to cry.

It didn’t happen more frequently than before. It didn’t happen any less, either – but it didn’t get more frequent. 

That is something at least, Steve would tell himself. Things would be fine. 

Bucky was on the right track to a happy and fulfilled life once again. And if Bucky could be happy, it would be enough for the both of them. 

Having a fulfilled life, however, included having friends. Not many of them had stuck around for Bucky after the accident, but a few did. Natasha and Sam visited them semi-regularly, whenever Bucky was up for it, but called often to chat or just to ask how things were. Maybe that’s what Bucky had had enough of, or maybe what he wanted to thank, when he proposed they all have dinner night together. 

Whatever his motivation, Steve was sure he couldn’t have foreseen what was about to happen. 

Steve also didn’t foresee the spectacular scene that unfolded that night. 

Later he often speculated how long things would have gone on as they were, if it weren’t for that dinner night.  
But as it was, Sam and Nat got invited over on a Friday evening, and Bucky took it up on himself to make Steve prepare dinner while he tidied the flat a bit. To Steve, he seemed excited – while he didn’t exact hum under his breath while cleaning, he had a kind of bounce in his step that was hard to miss. 

No wonder; before the accident, these sort of get-togethers were quite common, not just with four people, but with many more. They would cook, and eat, and drink, and share whatever was happening in their lives. Bucky always used to love the liveliness of these nights. 

This would be the first of its kind since Bucky lost his arm. 

Steve had also been looking forward to it all week. The fact that Bucky didn’t get out that much meant that Steve didn’t get out that much either, and he was excited about being able to just chat with their friends without…

Without the burden of possible consequences. Without having to pretend. 

It never occurred to Steve that he should be worried about things not going smoothly. 

And they didn’t, for the majority of the evening. Steve got the food ready, Bucky got the flat ready, and Natasha and Sam arrived five minutes before seven, bearing two bottles of relatively expensive red wine. They poured a glass for everyone, set the table and sat down to eat. The conversation flowed easily, and everybody was having a good time, especially Bucky, whose loud laughs broken by the occasional snort at Sam’s jokes echoed in the flat even when the others have finished chuckling a long time ago. 

Steve revelled in the sound. 

When they finished the food, they moved to the living room to spread out on the couch (Bucky and Nat) and sit in the armchairs (Steve and Sam), and continue the conversation. More than half an hour passed like that before they finished the first bottle of wine, but even that was only noticed by Sam when Natasha announced she needed a cigarette.

“I’ll get you a refill”, said Steve, and got up to pick up the empty bottle and Sam’s glass from the coffee table. 

Natasha glanced at Bucky. “You could keep me company on the balcony in the meantime.”

“And let these drunkards roam around unsupervised?” Bucky said grinning.

“Hey! I’m not the one you should be afraid of!” Sam was also laughing. 

Natasha got up to search for a lighter and some Marlboros in her purse. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure we have nothing to be afraid of. Come on, Bucky.”

Bucky heaved himself up from the couch with a loud groan and started after Nat in the direction of the balcony. Steve was busy with trying to figure out how to pick up four wine glasses and a wine bottle with two hands, bending over the coffee table. 

Nobody, including Steve, missed how Bucky stopped just behind him to admire the view a bit. Natasha flashed a knowing smirk, Sam let out horrified cry of “My poor eyes!” Bucky let out a low chuckle, and made a move to step away just as Steve successfully picked everything up and turned around. 

No matter how many hours Steve spent later thinking about it, he never seemed to figure out what would have made a difference in the situation. If Steve had decided to make two trips to the kitchen, like a sane person, instead of trying to take out everything at once, he wouldn’t have been lurking around by the time Bucky went to the balcony. Or if Bucky hadn’t stopped for those three seconds to ogle Steve’s ass, they probably wouldn’t have bumped into each other.

If, if, if. The smallest of change in either of their movements could have made a difference. But it didn’t.

Instead, Steve turned around, and almost landed in Bucky’s arms. He startled a bit; he wasn’t expecting the other to still be there. 

“Easy, Stevie.” 

And that was the moment Bucky decided to go for one of his impromptu hugs. 

Only he knew why then and there. Maybe he was moved by Steve’s dorkiness, the way he fumbled and struggled with all the glassware; maybe the unexpected proximity and Steve’s body heat drew him in. 

Who knows?

But these are the facts: Bucky smiled at Steve. Bucky touched his wrist, which was squeezing three of the glasses to his chest. Bucky caressed Steve’s arm from wrist to elbow. Bucky wound his arm around Steve’s back. Bucky leaned in, and while placing a kiss on Steve’s left cheek, raised his stump to touch Steve’s other shoulder. 

Here is another fact: the movement was never finished. 

Here is another fact: Sam and Natasha watched as Steve squeezed his eyes shut; watched as he flinched; watched as he tried to take a step back; and watched as he bumped into the coffee table, lost his balance, let go of the wine bottle and the glass in one hand and reached out to catch himself on the arm of the couch in the last minute. 

The sound of glass breaking echoed in the flat this time, but nobody cared. 

“I just… “ No matter how hard he tried, Steve couldn’t come up with an adequate explanation for what had just happened. 

Bucky pressed his lips together tightly, and looked at the ground.

Sam and Nat didn’t move for a minute. 

Then, as if a spell was broken suddenly, they leapt into action at the same time. 

Sam cautiously touched Bucky’s back. 

“Come on buddy, come on, sit down. It’s okay.” He led the unresponsive Bucky to the armchair on the far end of the room. 

“Let’s take a walk, Steve. Give these here”, said Natasha, taking the remaining glasses from Steve’s hands and putting them back on the coffee table. “Get your coat.”

“But…” Steve felt shocked, like he just went through an enormous trauma. 

“No buts. Get dressed.”

Knowing Natasha put up with no argument when she was like this, Steve went. He barely heard when Nat and Sam exchanged a few sentences while they quickly but efficiently cleaned up the mess.

Steve sneaked a glance at Bucky; he strongly suspected he didn’t either. Rather, it looked like he lived through a trauma ten times as severe as Steve’s. 

He couldn’t recall afterwards how he got dressed, went out the door following Natasha, or how long or in which direction they walked in complete silence. He was too wrapped up in his own head, replaying the crucial few moments of the evening again and again and again. Feeling responsible. Feeling guilty. 

Feeling as if he was busted. 

He was grateful that in the end, Natasha didn’t give him a harsh what-for, just a few well-placed words when they came to a stop in front of a 7-eleven’s half-working neon signs. 

“You do know he feels ugly, right?”

“I know.”

“And inadequate. Incomplete.”

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out you really hurt him tonight.”

“Nat. I know.”

“Then what gives? Why would you pull away like that?”

“I… It’s…It’s hard to explain.”

Natasha regarded him quietly for a while. From her next words, Steve knew that she guessed way more than what she had just been told, as always.

“Then make it simple. Not for me, for him. He deserves to know, Steve. “

“Yeah… okay.”

“Alright.”

They turned around to go back to the flat. 

It took quite a bit of time for them to get there. It gave Steve more than enough time to think about what was going to happen once they arrived, what he was going to say; and at the same time, didn’t give him the opportunity to prepare at all. The only thing he knew with certainty was that the cat was finally out of the bag now. 

No going back.

When they arrived, they only found Sam in the living room.

“He’s in the bedroom. But I don’t think he is asleep.” After addressing the both of them, Sam turned to Steve alone. “This isn’t my business, Steve, so I won’t interfere. But if you ever think you might need someone to talk to, like Bucky, give me a call. I’ll get you somebody trustworthy.”

Sam Wilson, the ever-reliable best friend, way too perceptive for his own good. 

“Thanks, Sam.”

“We’ll be going now.”

Steve walked them out. Natasha didn’t even take her shoes off when she and Steve returned, she was ready to go right away, but Sam needed to get dressed before leaving. None of them said a word. Steve fidgeted while he watched Sam tie his shoelaces, and had the sudden urge to nibble on the nail and the skin of his thumb. 

Finally, they were out the door.

Steve stood alone in hallway. 

He worried his bottom lip while he thought about what to do next. Bucky was probably awake in the bedroom, waiting for Steve. Waiting to have it out. Steve could walk in there, and put an end to this… this charade, this play-pretend, once and for all. He could confess. He could tell the truth. 

Or he could sleep on the couch for the night. Act as if this was one of their regular fights, when he was kicked out of the bedroom with force. When he was expected to be sweet and placating towards Bucky for a day or two. 

When he would earn forgiveness with time. 

He was so lost in his thoughts, staring at the front door still that he didn’t hear the noises from behind him. 

He only turned around, surprised, when Bucky switched on the lights again in the living room. 

“Steve.”

He was wearing old, washed-out and soft grey pyjama pants, but nothing else. 

“It has been obvious for weeks now that something is wrong. So look. Look, and tell me what the fuck your problem is.”

Of course, Bucky ended up being the brave one. Not only did he survive an accident that cost him a limb, not only did he put up with his new life, his new limits, the endless medical appointments and the therapy, but he was also brave enough to stand in front of Steve to demand his rightfully earned answers, even if his voice wavered at the end. 

This time, Steve wasn’t able to hold back the tears. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, took two or three deep breaths, and tried to tame it. It was no use. He grinded his teeth, he put a hand up to hide his face, made a broken sound like an animal being tortured, but in the end, the sob broke out of him, like a spring breaking to the surface of the ground. 

He wished it was just as refreshing. 

Bucky stood still while he cried. He saw the unwavering silhouette through the endless flow, the dark shape through his tears. He did not move, he did not even fidget while Steve sobbed on, harder and more desperate than any of the previous occasions. 

But eventually, the tears died down. 

“I…”

They died down, but there were no words to which they could have given space to. Steve felt like there was nothing he could say that would make things right; nothing that would make Bucky forgive him. How could there be, when he himself did not understand it, not really? It was so very confusing. On the one hand: this was it. The happily ever after that he was always dreaming of. He had the love of his life, his best friend, finally as a partner in every way possible. They were just beginning their life together. These times should be full of excitement, joy, making plans and daydreaming. But. On the other hand. 

On the other hand…. 

Was it worth the price? Was it worth almost losing his best friend to a horrible car accident? Was it worth Bucky losing his arm, his health, his functionality? Was it worth him having to put his life on hold, just so he could get his bearing again, just so he could learn to live a different way? Did he really have to put up with all these horrible changes in his world for them to find a way to each other?

If only Steve had the guts to tell Bucy how he felt earlier…. If only he had the bravery to confess even without knowing if Bucky felt the same way! Why did it have to come to this? Why was he this useless coward who couldn’t even make his friend feel loved, without a nearly fatal accident? 

He couldn’t make the love of his life feel loved even after the accident… 

“Come, sit.”

Steve looked up, startled. Bucky looked…. he seemed to be different, a different person than a minute ago. He was not standing rigid and tall anymore, but his knees were bent slightly, his fingers uncurled from the fist they were forming; he must have released the breath he was holding, for his stomach - with the little love-handles he was not too fond of - was pushed a bit outwards, instead of his chest. 

His shoulders have lost their tenseness - he became softer, somehow.

“Come here, sit down. Sit with me.”

His voice was also gentler, quieter.

Steve went; he wiped his face with his palm, and shuffled over to the couch Bucky was indicating, expecting him to sit down as well.

But before doing that, Bucky put on the standing lamp they had next to the armchair, and went to switch off the other light.

Steve bit his lip. When, even years later, he thought about these short minutes he spent sitting on the couch, huddling in on himself, waiting for Bucky to explain how hurt he was by Steve, maybe yell at him, maybe, possibly, say he needed time, or that he did not need this relationship – well, the agony was just as vivid in retrospect as it was at the time. Steve was completely at a loss; he did not know what to expect to happen next. Would he be single again by the end of the conversation? More importantly, will he have lost his best friend? Would he have to live with the burden of bringing this upon himself, for nothing more than his own lack of tolerance for the physical state of his boyfriend?

He took a deep breath when Bucky sat down – on the other end of the couch, but facing him -, but before Steve could open his mouth, he was cut off. 

“I’m sorry. I should have realised.”

Should have realised what? You are not making any sense, Steve thought. I should have realised I would not get away with this for forever. That I cannot hide things from you.

“I keep expecting you to be my anchor, and my pillar. And you were, you are. But I shouldn’t forget you are hurting, too.“

I am. I am. But this is not about me.

“I wanted to be complete for me, and for you. But that did not work very well. And I thought you wouldn’t like it much if I kept pretending anyway. So I was trying to learn how to cope. “

Of course you were, and you did it so well. So very well. You are the bravest person I know, you are amazing. 

“But you didn’t like the fact that I had to adjust, did you?”

No. Not at all. You shouldn’t have to be doing that. 

“It’s okay, Steve. If anybody, I can say this with a hundred percent conviction: it’s okay not to be okay for a while.”

Suddenly Steve felt like he was losing the thread of the conversation. His eyes were heavy, and the sounds, Bucky’s words, they started to blur, as if he was slowly sinking deeper and deeper into the dark, peaceful ocean. 

He still registered that his throat felt raw, and is his mouth felt dry, his lips chapped. He could not keep up with his own thoughts anymore. He imagined iron weights being tied to his arms, legs, even his head, as he slid down the couch, resting his temple on the arm of it. 

The world slowly turned to a fuzzy, warm kind of black, with Bucky’s soft voice playing as music in the background. Steve could no longer make out any of the words, but at this point, he also stopped worrying about it. Suddenly he felt a bone-deep tiredness, as if he walked for miles in the desert without a sip of water, but finally had found an oasis, and could allow himself to collapse with exhaustion and with relief. 

It was like a fight he hadn’t even known he was fighting was, at long last, over. 

He felt fingers in his hair, moving gently, combing the strands this way and that, scratching his scalp. It was soothing to the point that Steve felt like he was being hypnotised, but he didn’t find the strength in himself to care about that either. He felt his eyes closing, his breathing evening out, then deepening.

The last thing he was aware of was a gentle kiss being placed on the top of his head. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Interestingly enough, later he remembered the catastrophe of that evening in vivid detail, but the aftermath of it all simply got away from him. The hours, days and weeks following the evening of his breakdown did not only blur together, but nearly ceased to exist in Steve’s mind. 

(The psychologist told him at the time that it was most probably a coping mechanism. Steve did not understand this; shouldn't he have come up with a mental defence when Bucky was injured, for example? That was hard to cope with. But Doctor Banner “knew his shit”, according to Sam, so Steve shut his mouth.)

It wasn’t until months later that Steve was able to put together what had happened. He still couldn’t recall everything, but the therapist and Bucky’s patient recalling helped with forming a mostly coherent story.

Because apparently, he talked.

He talked to Bucky while he was crying. He talked, and he blabbered, and he sobbed, and he confessed, and he wiped the tears that just kept coming, and took shuddering breaths, and he tried to find his voice, and he kept licking his lips so the words would actually come out at least half-resembling to what they would supposed to be.

Well. That is what Bucky has said. And isn’t the human mind a strange place, to hide all this?

Apparently, Steve confessed. 

He confessed the pain of having to think of the missing arm, and in turn, Bucky being in the accident, and in turn, him being hurt, and in turn, the close call of death that nearly took him from Steve. 

He confessed how he hated the missing arm with a passion. 

He confessed how he despised himself for these thoughts. 

Apparently, confessing all this took a lot more time than Steve would have thought. 

When he passed out, from the stress and the sheer exhaustion, Bucky did not move from his side. But he did call Sam for help. 

Steve did not remember them negotiating the form of that help for the following days. He did not remember them coming to an agreement, or Sam driving them to the facility. He did not remember the nice, warm orange walls of the doctor’s office from his first visit. 

He did not remember going to an artificial, but relaxing, deep sleep. 

What he remembered was this:

When he woke up, Bucky was there. He was still missing his arm, but when he hugged Steve, it was so fierce, so passionate, and so warm, that for once, Steve did not have room in his head to think about it. 

What he remembered was that from then on, Bucky always, always moved them around so his good side was next to Steve’s, and taking his one good hand in his, lacing the fingers together. 

Doctor Banner told Steve to think of Bucky’s good arm as his anchor to Steve’s side.

It worked so well, that after a while, Steve felt the presence of Bucky’s fingers in his hands even when they parted ways in front of Doctor Banner’s office on Tuesdays so Steve could begin his own therapy sessions. 

He wasn’t well yet, but he’d get there. In the meantime, he had Bucky to hold on to, and to hug. 

Because apparently, Bucky understood everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I have been working on this little thing for two years (on and off), and well, it's not so little now. I wrote it mostly to practice and to experiment with a few things, and I know it's far from perfect, but it's high time I stopped fiddling with it, there would always be things I would want to change... So, here it is, let me know what you think! Criticism is also welcome.
> 
> (Just, you know... don't be too harsh on me?)


End file.
